The Blue Scarf

A scarf brings a remembrance of days past. For Writer's Cramp 9/24/10

Exiting the bus, Craig sprinted the few feet to the doors of the station. Rain pelted him, soaking his hands and the paper he used for cover as he splashed through the puddles to the welcoming light of the station ahead. As the door swung closed behind him, the warmth of the station brought a calmness over Craig, even as the cold rain kept still pelted against the doors and windows of the station. The wrinkled old woman in the corner with bags under her eyes gave him a hard stare when he looked in her direction, and moved a hand in absentminded reflex over the pair of young children sleeping next to her. A bum, noticing it wasn't an employee of the station, snorted and turned over under his own newsprint by the restrooms, going back to sleep.

Such was the greeting Craig received upon arriving in the quaint little town of Fertile. He had looked it up on a map when he realized he had to stop here for a late night bus switch, and surmised it was a little town, probably with a single bar and not much else. What few streetlights there were on the way in hadn't dissuaded Craig of this notion. Just another stop on this long journey.

Staying well clear of the other occupants of the station, Craig went to an empty row and sat down. Feeling his rear slipping more than usual on the hard plastic seat, he stood back up and noticed a scarf, the same blue as the seat. Picking it up before sitting back down, Craig was struck by the perfume that permeated the cloth. A memory, unbidden and long buried, rushed to the fore of his consciousness, and he couldn't help but close his eyes and relive that moment six years ago.



The lights dimmed in the hall, except a single spotlight that shone bright over myself and Larae, so resplendent in her white dress with the frills. The beaming smiles of family and friends the sole image able to pierce the spotlight in which I stand. Reaching out my arms I pull the slender beauty against me, so small and fragile, but secure in her place. My right hand settles at the small of her back and her left settles on my shoulder, as we join my left hand with her right out to our sides. Her fingers brush lightly across the back of my neck, a tickle that translates through time to bring goosebumps to the man sitting in the humid bus station.

The violins start up a slow melody, that becomes haunting in recollection, but suffused the air with the anticipation of that first dance, the moment when husband and wife shuffled together to the left and right as a couple for the first time. The piano joins in, bringing a heavy note to the airy strings. I can feel her knees shake for a moment as she realizes I will always be there for her, my wife and soul mate, forever and ever. But I wasn't there for her that day.

The airy violins become screeching metal, the heavy piano hardens to a dull clicking. Crawling across the broken glass I pull away from the wreck, a red tinge obscuring the view while a dull throbbing deadens the mind. There was something important there, something that left this smell on my coat that I'm using to cover my mouth from the acrid smoke.

Standing up, sight clears with a view of her face. Upside down with eyes wide and a pained look in them, before the smoke obscures the face again. And then the echo of thunder from that sunny day emits from nearby, shaking the bus station and causing one of the sleeping children to wake. A sibilant hiss emits from the woman as she shushes her grandchild back to sleep, and becomes the ringing that was the aftermath, with glass and heated metal creating shards of pain. I flinch reflexively in remembrance.

“Hey, are you okay man? Come with me and we'll fix you up. Good thing you got out of that crash. Can you hear me buddy? Hey!”



“Hey! Hey, excuse me!” Eyes snap open as he's fully brought back to the moment, and Craig stares at the blond standing in front of him. “That's my scarf you've got there, can I have it back?”

He looks down at the blue fabric clenched within his hands, fingers white. Craig tries to speak, then coughs and croaks out “Yeah, sorry. I sat on it.” With great effort he extends his arm up to the woman standing there and opens his hand.

She takes the cloth from him, and backs a few steps away. Her green eyes look him up and down before she says “Thanks. Are you okay mister? You look a little pale.”

“I'll be okay. You're perfume just reminded me of better days, and not so much better days.”

The blond walks over to sit by the door. But she can't help but notice the lone tear that falls from the vacant stare of the man she retrieved her scarf from.